Death! It Is Rest To

Coleridge Cried; "o God, How Glorious It Is To Live!" Renan Asks, "o God, When Will It Be Worth While To Live?" In Nature We Echo The Poet; In The World We Echo The Thinker.

It Is Only To Those Who Have Never Lived That Death Ever Can Seems Beautiful.

It Is Quite Easy For Stupid People To Be Happy; They Believe In Fables, And They Trot On In A Beaten Track Like A Horse On A Tramway.

Fame Has Only The Span Of The Day, They Say. But To Live In The Hearts Of People-that Is Worth Something.

I Have Known Men Who Have Been Sold And Bought A Hundred Times, Who Have Only Got Very Fat And Very Comfortable In The Process Of Exchange.